


A Seed Blossoms - Prologue

by Analytical_Cochineal



Series: A Hero Blooms [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past
Genre: Agahnim too, Gen, Inspired by Linked Universe, Zelda is mentioned, as is the King and his unamed wife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Analytical_Cochineal/pseuds/Analytical_Cochineal
Summary: The musings of an old man as he readies himself to do what is right.
Series: A Hero Blooms [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663756
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	A Seed Blossoms - Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm playing A Link to The Past for the first time and caught the feels. I had a feeling that I had to write this. I'm not far into the game but somehow I'm emotional over a game that's older than me.

The rain clatters against the panes and wood of the house. Rickety, old and beaten by many natural phenomena before this heavy rainfall decided to come and pay a visit. The wind howls and thunder made the onslaught of heavy raindrops all the louder, harder to ignore. One could say the rain was soothing, that a storm was not so bad when observed from inside. As long as one was warm and cosy with a hot drink.

Those people lived comfortable lives, did not live in houses so small it could barely retain the basic necessities of living. Yet the home was not cluttered as they are poor, and who in the kingdom wasn't? There is a fine line between poverty and living in splendour. There is no middle class, not anymore. Not since the downfall of the great hero who was supposed to save them from the internal demise that plagued these lands. No prosperity, barely a light against the dark of the many wars, from the demons that sought to wreak havoc upon the goddess' blessed land to the civil wars that broke out for the golden power. If something good did happen, it was hard to make up for the setbacks and the deaths that continued the climb the numbers each year. The fancy tales of peace and whimsy told as bed stories that used to be so common hundred of years ago, before the demon king, were but tales, fairytales. Less real than the authentic fae that hid from the common man's eyes. Pleased to help but too scared to approach. And who could fault them? Greed was the default in times like these, one would do anything for a pretty penny and an instant revival was nothing to scoff at. Who cared for the feelings of a mysterious tiny being of magic when their kingdom was falling apart at the seams? 

The burly man sighs, age catching up to him. Though no one could tell from his dark hair and bronzed skin, the signs are there and the years had not been kind to him. Not that they had ever been, not since contact had been cut from the castle all those years ago.

The man looks up from his downcast gaze and glances at the far corner to the west of the one-room cabin. Afraid of burning holes into the sturdy large work and dining table. It had been much through the years as it is the only table to do business at. But he would not surprised with how unlucky they were that the table would collapse with only his heavy eyes.  
In the only bed in the house lays a little boy, sleeping. Barely twelve though he looks younger than that. His chest rises and falls peacefully, his knees are curled up to his chest and his small breaths of air make him smile. He could feel his moustache bounce on his lip. 

But the grin is short-lived as he, unfortunately, could not help but notice the marks of misfortune that had both befallen the kingdom and its citizens. His eyes sting and his hands tremble.  
His sleeping tunic, upon a time a white woollen one, once his, dwarfs him completely. The famine that struck a few years ago and persists to this day has stunted his growth and he is worried the boy would not hit his growth sput anytime soon if he does ever. Ever does the child look content in his sleep, the instinctive way he makes himself smaller tugs at his heartstrings. The bed is not big, barely could fit them both when the boy had been younger. Yet there is so much space left. Unconsciously the boy was trying to lessen the burden of being taking up space.  
If he could he would make sure his charge was comfortable for the rest of his life. That his boy would never have to ask for anything, that he could play, study and thrive during the day and rest swaddled in the thickest blankets by the fire hearth until he would fall asleep. Only to repeat the cycle the next day.  
But the hearth has been faulty for years, works miraculously only when they want to cook food and usually not for very long. They had sold their good blankets for rations this year and the passive crisis that has befallen these lands was not only on them. The children of the nearby villages, of Kakariko and the smaller settlements further down in the woods, have not come playing. The silence often hurts the most, the lack of laughter, the vacancy of hearty knocks and voices that chime has taken its toll on everyone. It is children that die the quickest, third to the elderly. The first place was reserved for the little wee ones that could not yet walk. 

The sense of foreboding is thick, looming over his head as his eyes trail over the soft expression of his child. Feeling the loss of his little friends as life took them away too soon. Feeling guilty for being relieved every single day the same fate had not struck his boy. His sight lingers on the most eye-catching detail of the boy a normal man would not ignore, not in the land of golden sun and low magic.  
Link's bangs are splayed messily over the pillow he hugs to his chest. Large but not necessarily luxurious, feathers and less soft materials spilling out at the shoddy needlework of a practising child. His hair is pink, undeniably rose pink. Like the lovely pink roses, he once remembered seeing in the queen's garden when he had still been allowed to visit the castle. Of course, through a secret passageway, they could not jeopardise the sight of a peasant roaming up and about around the castle. It would be putting their already crumbling reputation to shambles. It hardly mattered that he was the last one of a family of knights. What good was heritage when there was nothing inherit? It was merely an old reliance, an old oath, a secret council of the common man. He was a knight only by blood and after the downfall of the Legendary Knight, his call to the glory hardly would bring anything good but a mocking laugh from the nobles with their golden but dusty goblets. There was no gold nor jewels left for that kind of craft to be up and running in this economy. 

Light hairs still shine through and his skin is nearly the same as his, as once as it had been delicately white. The pink hair had appeared a month before, new and softer than the spilt blood of the reluctant soldiers slain inside castle walls. Like the sign of good fortune, like the sign of coming spring. Pink was a good colour, it was a colour of royalty, all the princesses wore it, after all, it was a rich colour. No one would find it here and surely not so vibrant in tone.

But much luck it did not bring, tensions are high, the month has been rougher than the last and the implication of suddenly having pink hair has not been favourable either. It was a sign of magic, if one had not known his boy they would say that he was talented, destined to become a powerful, hopefully, successful wizard. A potion seller, a fortune teller. Naturally gifted. But he was not born with pink hair. He had cut off his hair once it reached long enough to cover Link's sunken in features. Short and choppy compared to the medium-long hair he had sported in his early youth.  
No, a sudden birth in magic it was not. It was divine intervention, from Hylia himself if he was as religious as the townfolk he had not seen in a long time. With the circumstances, he came to adopt his kid he could guess as to why suddenly his golden sun hair had to change. Why his skin magically tanned upon years of burning in the sun, why his eyes, once a beautiful crystal blue that could rival the sky, were now black. Hazel if one was generous, green in the right environment. But always seemingly empty black the last few days as joy was harder to come by.  
They were lucky they had to spend these days inside all the time, or maybe not, but lucky enough that nobody questioned why Link had not been out of the house and he had not filled for the corpse wagon to come by yet. 

But never lucky enough, he could feel it. He ripped his eyes away from the sniffling child, knowing if he stared longer that he would tear up. That he would be angry that the only good thing in his life was so suffering even in his sleep. His boy did not deserve that, he did not deserve any of this. But he had a bad feeling that his suffering would never stop, that tonight was only the beginning of-  
Those were not thoughts he wanted to dwell on for too long, it tended to get the spirits down and high spirits is would he would need for tonight. Turning to religion, or the superstition wasn't very dignified but what had he left? He had an intuition something especially critical was going to happen more so than the king disappearing and his shifty wizard of an advisor usurping the throne. Hylia be damned if he believed the King was the one giving the orders now. He was not sure when it happened, this wizard was sly, he would give him that, but he was the one now ruling. The soldiers would not be so hostile if that was the case, would not be demanding more and more from a decaying kingdom. Would not be so cruel. He knew these men and something was not right. They were like soulless minions doing their master's bidding and he hates to think that it has come to that. The crescendo was coming to a climax and although he had his doubts, he was sure now as the night continued, as the foreboding in his chest made him sicker and sicker that the worst had happened.  
The rain brought him back to reality, having forgotten for a moment the horrid weather they were having this dark eve. But it also brought his revelation to light.  
He was not magically inclined, not many were. However, he knew the feeling of the divine magic that coursed through the veins of the royal family. When he had been young, when the land had been somewhat well-off, he had witnessed the crowing of the late queen. Oh, how she had shined on her coronation! He had felt that, had felt the light, felt the Divine Right that had made the royal family royalty in the first place. It was what had made his belief strong, unshakeable. That knowledge haunts him now as he feels the desperate, weak call of help. Of the foreign yet familiar song of magic. Like a songbird trapped in a gilded cage. But comparing the young princess to a bird, much less the cage gilded when no doubt Agahnim was cruel enough to throw the poor girl in a dungeon, was an insult to her young majesty. To the little girl of three, he had seen on his last and what he thought the final visit to the castle. With a promise that would never leave his lips until the day he died. Maybe never, one person, lovely queen Zelda the V, had after all passed, forever bless her soul. The other he was not so sure of what his fate was. What Agahnim had done to him which only left him. It was a secret he would take to his death if he had to.

He hears her call and fully prepares to go out and rescue her. Never once was he knight, but like the Sheikah of old that had watched and protected the royal family in the past, his family had a duty. No oath, no fine print contract. Nobody to uphold him for not following through. But it is his duty as the last remaining relative of the legendary knights that had saved the land countless times before. One failure, as drastic as it was, would not deter him from doing what was right. The hero that fell and the many before him were not popular anymore, scorned in polite company. The colour green not as once revered, the Cap of Liberty thrown to the wayside. All the more reason to raise Link to be like the knights of old, to dress him in green, to sow the Phrygian cap that kept his head from growing cold or heated. Why else would he name the boy Link when he came in his care as but a crying red flower of a baby? He surely had the lungs of a warrior, it made his relative muteness quite the contrary.

He chuckles at his passionate thoughts, revelling in what feels like the last time he would be able to think in relative safety. Carefully and silently he treads the ice-cold floors, not that he could feel it through his boots, retrieving his sword and shield from where they hang on the wall. Shining, sharp and the only metal things that get sharpened and dusted in this household. Never did he think he would have to take up arms, but he would never let princess Zelda be subjected to this fate. Never, he will die trying, that much he knows as there is nobody else who will fight for their princess.  
His musings always lead to Link eventually, he just can't help but worry. Zelda reminds him of the slumbering boy all too strong and he is not surprised as to why.  
For a moment, for a single, mad moment as his thoughts are going in the most unthinkable directions, he thinks of what would happen if Link was in his shoes. Named after the Fallen Hero, of course, he had the thought before. As the only chap named Link for miles on miles due to disdain of the past, would his Link be put to the test? Would he have to save a princess, stop a looming threat? Would he have to save a kingdom, win where his spiritual ancestor lost? 

The thoughts are preposterous, absolutely asinine and he laughs bitterly as he fastens the last pair of belts onto his person. Feeling wide and thicker through the layers of protective armour. Nothing fancy but enough to keep him safe from a few hits and surely the chill of the rain. No doubt he would be soaked through by the time he got to the castle. Hopefully, that would not be detrimental to his overall health. The hunger of not having enough to eat every day had long since past since he had been sneaking his portions to Link when the boy was not looking. He could not imagine that his body was in the best condition to be battling evil.

Link, no, not his Link. He hated to admit it, but his boy was weak. Weakened by the famine, weakened by the permanent sickness that laid in every blade of grass, shrub and tree. Even in his earlier childhood Link could not lift pots, did not wrestle as much like the other boys, not for the lack of trying to prove himself. He could lift pots now, proudly over his head before he had scream to let his poor pottery free so the boy would not impulsively smash them on the ground. He was never sure where he got the bright idea that he needed to smash as much pottery as he could. He single-handedly raised him his whole life, he definitely did not teach him that!

He had been inside for weeks, no way was Link leaving anytime soon. Not his smart little Link, his brave little warrior. If he was vitreous in freeing the princess and hopefully found a solution to all this madness, Link would grow up to make him proud. As a writer, as a merchant, as a diplomat or if he was lucky as a soldier! Once the land was purged from evil's clutches of course. That boy would him proud, just not today. Today, tonight his little boy should sleep away and let the adults handle the conflicts of the present.  
He looks back at the still sleeping boy, looks at his himself and wants to cry in disbelief. Swallowing back the dryness of his throat and wiping away the wetness in his eyes. He could not dawdle any longer, the longer he took the more uncertain Zelda's fate became and he could not, would not let the princess perish. As one last duty to his kingdom, to her parents, to Link, he would not falter. He was a Knight of Hyrule, in blood and spirit, no legal documents or lack of training would stand in his way.

Thunder strikes the moment he makes up his mind. It's loud and it rings throughout the whole house. It makes the home shudder and for a second he worries that in his absence the cabin will fly away with Link in it. But that is just his fear talking, the same fear that came with preparing himself mentally to storm a castle and fight brainwashed soldiers in armour. He was a but a man, fear was only natural.  
It has been thundering the whole night, a little bit before Link fell asleep, exhausted as the poor boy was in his condition. Lightning struck a few times too, but the recent blast was by far the loudest. It sets his hairs on end and he hears a gasp loud and clear from behind him. No doubt Link has awoken, none too gently. With gasps that sound weak and make him wince. He feels bad for leaving Link behind, even if it was not for the first time he had gone out in the night, leaving the boy in his lonesome. Yet, this is the first time that he is not so sure of if he will return, the first time he is padded by scrapes of cloth and protective gear he could never trade or sell for more money in their pockets. Always had he been afraid of the possibility of having use of something like this. Of his weekly runs with the blade and sword that would end up useful. That he had taught Link on how to defend himself if the situation called for. If he had any say in it he would wish Link would never require such skill, not ever. But he had no say and if it ever came to it...at least let the boy be older. Twenty if he could be so lucky to have his wish granted.  
"Link, I'm going to be out for a while. I'll be back by morning. Don't leave the house." He glances at him as he says so, not expecting an answer, not wanting an answer. It is more of a declaration rather than an explanation with a demand added onto the end. It feels unnecessary to say the last bit but he wants to make sure Link understands that this is a serious matter, that if he does not return that he does not come looking for him. Link is a clever boy, he would understand what he means.  
Awake, Link still seems so small, is so small compared to other children his age, or rather, like children when he was Link's age. He had not seen a child Link's age in months. Groggy with cheeks that should be round, pale in colour whereas the flush on his face should be as lively as the colour of his hair. Sick, frail, thin. After years and patches, his tunic is still too big on him, as are the rest of Link's clothes. They don't have the luxury of buying children's clothing, not since Link's eight birthday. At least he did not trip over them.  
Link stares, nods but he is not sure if he understands. It takes him a moment and he sees the realization in his coal eyes. That this night is not like every other night. That something is brewing if the signs this month had not been strong enough already. He sees the silent terror, the knowledge no child should have as Link grimly accepts that there is no guarantee that morning will ever come, for his uncle at least. 

He suspects, oh does he wonder ever if Link heard it too, the call of help deep within his sleep. He looks far too put off and troubled to be merely awoken by thunderstruck. But that could be the heavy realisation, the horror of seeing his only relative dressed for war, or more likely a fight. Of seeing the glint of his sword and shield. Of knowing how late it is and that his sane uncle would not go galavanting into the night without a good reason. That this might be the last time he sees him.  
He sets his lips in an even line, stands straight and without a hint of hesitation. So that his boy has something brave to remember him by. So that his last vision of him is not a bloodied image of trauma that will never leave. That his boy would not see him as a collapsed corpse, of a defeated man of a dead lineage of once-proud knights that served the kingdom faithfully. Forgotten and only existing in his memory. He would do anything to make sure his kid survived and Zelda too, she deserved as much for the strive she had been going through. In another time she could have been..., no, he should think of that. Not now, not a few footsteps away from the door, into the unknown, ready to face his uncertain fate.  
The door closes behind him with a hard thud. His mind burning with the image of his dear boy safe but fragile in the one bed they own. His now if he did not make it through the night. Everything he owned would go to Link, he had made sure that if something were to happen to him, Link would inherit everything he had. It was not much but it would let him survive for a few months until he figured out what he had to do stay alive. 

Being so close to the castle has its many advantages, the path, wet and dark as rain pelts like octorok bullets from the sky is short and easy to follow. Living alone with no neighbours means nobody will try to take Link's belongings or the boy himself once they notice the lack of parent figure.

But and he hates himself for thinking of this as he walks alongside the castle walls to the old passageway he remembers from twelve years ago. But what if because they are so close to the castle that soldiers start looking for him there first? The taxes had been light for them but that was mostly out of luck that guards tended to forget that lone house on a hill no part of any actual village. On paper, they were a part of Kakariko since it was not that far away. Yet the dense trees and high slopes say otherwise. Kakariko is still too far away to consider them villagers. If they did come knocking on Link's door he does not doubt that the corrupted guards would take Link and all his belongings to pay the growing debt of the evil schemes of their current ruler. What they would do to Link he does not know and it chills him to do bone to think of all the possibilities. A shudder not caused by his soaked state wrecks his whole body. Agahnim he doubted would have mercy for a little boy, regardless of age Link would be a target, no doubt about it. If Agahnim ever found where Link came from... It was his worst fear.

Grass and thick shrubbery had grown over the hatch of the secret passageway. Even now in the darkness, he recognizes it. From age, it is loose and more of a glorified drop hole than anything. A ladder has long since rotted and fallen to the side. Shallow water meets his old tired eyes, growing steadily with the rainfall that trickles in through the not so watertight stone masonry.  
He falls, the landing is murder on his creaking joints but adventures from his youth and daily training keep him from falling on his back. Determination also plays a large role in dulling the pain that courses through his lower body.  
Determination to rescue the princess, to come out alive and find a way to banish the evil of the land. It was foolish to think that he could let himself die. He will fight to the last breath but he could not do so while he thought he was going to die tonight regardless of what he did. He had to stay positive, had to make it back to Link. Had to stay by his promise, has to take care of his child. His promise had long since become a duty to himself. Link had long ago become his son, even if he was never his. Even if he had never laid with a woman and had something come out of it. Link will always be his, will always be his boy. And a crazy power-hungry wizard could not stand between that. Link needed him, Zelda needed him and together these children will make Hyrule flourish again. Like the tales of old, before all this strife and destruction. Everything would be as right as rain, everything would be alright.  
The wind whistles in his ears, the thunder roars beneath his skin. Faintly he hears them from the hole in the ceiling and he wishes he had brought his lantern with him. However, he could not deny Link the comfort of a trusty light source. Not that he had his hands free to hold one anyway as he wanders into the dark grimy corridor. Wet and dripping, musty and cold. Deeper and deeper until he did not see. He reaches for the small light of a candle on the wall, with a firm mind and a noble goal. Already feeling the strain before he has swung his sword and hoping that everything will be alright. His thoughts are on Link, as always. Of him being safe and for the first in the night he smiles genuinely because while he may be risking his life at least his boy is safe.  
Link...his son, is safe.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated especially as this is my first LOZ work. I also wanted to thank the many wonderful writers that make Linked Universe fanfics. They get me through the day and I got inspired by a few particular ones. Once I find out how to link them it's all over.


End file.
